


Demigods

by 8BitSkeleton



Series: If This City is Burning, It's By My Own Hand [3]
Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Arson, Canon-Typical Violence, Explosions, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BitSkeleton/pseuds/8BitSkeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is nothing if not a gentleman who puts thought and planning into the dates he takes people on.</p><p>It just so happens that for a date with James, the planning involves finding an abandoned gas station in the middle of nowhere, buying a block of explosives, and lugging two containers of gasoline into what used to the station's mini-mart.</p><p>Oh, and a red sports car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demigods

**Author's Note:**

> this was written as a commission for rhian on tumblr! they wanted punch kisses otp michael/james, which i am always weak for
> 
> also, did you know: gasoline stations store their gas in tanks under the station that, most often than not, leak fuel into the soil around them and make the ground flammable and arid. just thought y'all should know.

When Michael asks James for a date on a Tuesday evening, he never actually says the word ‘date.’

What Michael says when James picks up the phone is, “I got a surprise for you.”

James hums into the receiver, interested. He nods at Lawrence, who nods back and takes over the pair of pliers James was holding over their hostage’s hands. The hostage whimpers as Lawrence looms over him, body somehow more menacing than James. James exits the dark room and walks down the makeshift hallway.

James asks, “Does this surprise involve dinner and a movie?”

“Have you ever been able to sit through a movie longer than one hour that doesn’t involve explosions and death?”

James opens the door to the warehouse, smelling the stale river air. Shoots back, “Have you?”

“No. Which is why this won’t be that.”

James leans against the metal siding. “But it’s still a date?”

“Maybe. Where are you?”

Giving the river splayed out in front of him a once over, he says, “The Fakehaus torture warehouse.”

“That place where you gave me a blowjob while Kovic watched?”

James looks to his left, to the edge of the warehouse and remembers the way the gravel dug into his knees, the way Adam’s eyes dug into his skin—

Says, “Yep. I’m looking at the spot now, consumed by warm and fuzzy memories.”

“Hope you’re enjoying yourself. Be there soon.”

James hangs up the phone, feeling a giddiness flip his stomach. He goes back inside to inform Lawrence that he’s just made other plans and that he’s going to call Elyse so she can help Lawrence finish up here.

Lawrence nods and says, “Tell Elyse to bring her knives.”

 

* * *

 

Michael picks James up in a car he has never seen before. It’s a little red number with big headlights and only two seats under its convertible roof. James whistles lowly as he approaches, kicking up dust and gravel. As Michael puts the car into park, the engine still humming, James leans over the open window and says, “Nice car. Did you steal it?”

Michael scoffs, offended. Says, “You wish I would’ve stolen it. Don’t you get off on that sort of thing?”

James shakes his head and opens the door to the car. “I mean, I would be offended if that wasn’t so blatantly true.”

Michael smiles. “See? I know you.”

James slides into the car, settles himself on the rich, light colored leather seat. Says, “In more than one sense.”

Michael puts the car in drive, turns out of the warehouse driveway. “Ah, like in the biblical sense. Clever.”

James hangs his arm out of the open window, feeling the wind blow into the side of his head. Says, “I know things.”

“Like me.”

“Yes, we covered that we have sex with each other.”

Michael snorts, turns into the highway. There’s a beat of silence where James admires the Los Santos skyline from eye level in the setting sun. He really loves this city. Loves it more now that its in the palm of his crew’s hand. Well, half of it is. But it’s the good half.

They’re on the highway for all of five minutes. Once Michael turns off the highway and onto a road that leads out of town, James asks, “Where’d you _really_ get the car?”

Michael takes a second before he answers, “Heist money.”

James says, “Oh.” He leans over the middle console and into Michael’s space, says in his most seductive voice, “I like a man with deep pockets.”

Michael smiles with one side of his mouth, only glances at James as he transverses the one lane road. Asks, “Does a man with deep pockets like you, though?”

James bursts at the seams with unexpected laughter, his head thrown back in mirth. The wind through the open window swallows the noise up.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been on many dates, Michael, but this one is the most romantic so far,” James says, slightly sarcastic, as he kicks over a scarcely populated display rack. The sound it makes in the crumbling space of the hollowed out, night-dark gas station rattles James head, and that’s just how he likes it.

Michael crunches his feet down on some shatter-proof glass behind the counter. “You sure about that, honey?”

James hums, “Oh, I don’t doubt that you have something up your sleeve.”

Michael scoffs, “Please. When _don’t_ I?”

James shrugs as if to say _Well._ Michael shrugs back, smirking. He ducks under the counter and James hears the sloshing of liquid in containers, their shuffling on broken glass. He feels a dull thrum start up under his skin at the possibilities.

Michael hefts two gasoline containers the color of fresh blood onto the sagging counter. James mouth goes dry at the sight. Michael ducks back down and produces a nice solid block of C4, a detonation mechanism.

He spreads them on the counter, showing off his wares, as James walks up to him, lays a hand on the strangely warm, red plastic.

Michael says, “You were saying something about romance?”

James groans low in his throat. “Oh, honey. You had me at hello.”

Michael smiles, “Thought so.”

James’ fingers skim the letters on the side of the container that spell out GASOLINE - DANGER. “You have a plan?”

Michael shrugs, makes a noise, “Not really. Thought we’d just set the place on fire.”

James’ wide smile blossoms on his face, turning manic. “That’s my favorite type of plan.”

Michael hums, “I thought you’d like it.”

James grips the gasoline tank handle. He slides it off the counter, feeling its weight tug at his arm, the liquid splashing inside. Michael smiles at him. Asks, “Which one of these do you think is a structural wall?”

Together, they find the structural wall and lay the C4 at its base. Together, they spill the gasoline, working in a pattern only they recognize. They walk circles around each other, dousing racks and freezers and walls, wetting glass and floorboards and dead wires littered along the space.

James likes how it makes the place smell, how the acrid scent burns his airway on the way to his lungs. He takes in deep breaths and holds them in his lungs just to feel how it aches in his chest.

Michael stands on the jamb of the place, where the window would be if it hadn’t already been blown out. He shakes off his container, loosening any stray drops of gasoline from the nozzle.

James finishes pouring his gasoline as Michael throws his container far into the gas-sodden space. James shakes his container too, then drops it at his feet, feeling the drops of liquid settle into his clothes. He shivers at the thought.

Michael pulls on a wire coming down from the ceiling. Asks, “You good?”

James swings his head over to look at Michael, eyes half lidded as he feels a manic sort of calm settle over him, a premonition of destruction, the eye of the storm. James smiles softly and says, “I, I am doing just fine.”

Michael giggles, rapid-fire, bending at the waist and almost toppling from his perch. He opens his mouth in a wide smile. Says, “Jesus Christ, you’re gone already and we’ve barely done anything. I haven’t even _touched_ you.”

James’ soft smile widens. “You hold the key to my heart and all the rest of my fleshy bits.”

Michael giggles again, drops down from his step, approaches James. Asks, “You sure you aren’t just high off the gas fumes?”

James blinks once, twice, three times, the calm slowly dissipating as he reacts to Michael’s closeness.

Michael smells like _Michael_ and not like gasoline, and that’s like a switch being turned in James’ mind—

James makes a soft noise at the back of his throat and reaches his hand out, grabbing at the fume-filled air before his palm finds Michael’s chest. His fingers close on Michael’s clothes, gripping the fabric hard, pulling him close—

James crashes their lips together, off-center and with too much teeth, but that’s how James likes it. He bites down on Michael’s lip, feeling the adrenaline starting up at the base of his skull, feeling the gasoline, like a presence, clogging up the air around them. James turns his body into Michael’s, pressing him against the edge of the entrance. Michael presses back, brow furrowed as their kiss takes on the usual push-pull.

Michael returns the favor and bites down on James’ tongue as he slips it inside Michael’s mouth, and it makes James groan, makes James press his body against the solid length of Michael’s body.

As every part of them slots together, James feels a spike of fleeting pleasure run down his spine as he registers the fact that he’s hard against Michael’s hip. He isn’t sure if it’s his following gasp or Michael’s smirk that breaks the kiss, but fuck, he didn’t even register that he was hard yet, what the fuck, why is his body such a traitor—

Michael snakes a hand down, cups James’ dick and strokes agonizingly slow. Asks, “Already?”

James shivers. Says, “Apparently.”

Michael, with his smirk still in place, pushes James off of him with a sinuous gesture, a smooth movement of his body. James swallows down his whine at the absence and watches as Michael smiles at him, this time genuine, digging a hand into his jacket pocket. He brings his hand out, sticks the closed fist under James nose.

James says, “Uh,” but Michael opens his hand before he can finish. Resting in Michael’s palm is the detonator. James inhales sharply at sight of the black mechanism in front of him.

Michael shrugs, trying to be nonchalant as he says, “I’m a gentleman, so I’ll let you do the honors.”

James moans low in his throat. Says, “Best date ever.”

He reaches for the detonator and Michael lets him take it. Michael says, “Best date ever and it’s not even over yet.”

James bounces on the balls of his feet, steps away from Michael and onto the cracked asphalt of the pump station. Says, “Come on!”

Michael grins and follows. Throws James the keys to his car as they approach it. James catches them in midair, unlocks the car, slides in and drives them to a distance where the gas station could almost fit into the palm of their hands; the pump stations, like rings, adorning their fingers.

James turns off the car and slams his door shut behind him, goes to sit on the hood of the car. Michael follows suit, putting on airs of calm, trying to act as foil for James even though he feels his own skin thrumming at the smell of gasoline that still lingers in the air around them.

James smiles, his breathing shallow, both of his hands shaking with adrenaline on the detonator. He looks over at Michael and asks, “Ready?”

Michael nods, hooking a foot on the front bumper of the car. “When you are.”

James nods back, trades his gaze from Michael to their newest victim. He breathes out long and slow, thumb pressing down on the detonate button.

The ground underneath them _shakes_ with the explosion. James moans openly at the way the space crumbles in a cloud of dust, the flames immediately consuming what still stands.

James doubles over, groans out, “God—”

He feels Michael lay a shaky hand on the back of his head. James instinctively presses the heel of his hand on the head of his dick, the length of it pressed between his thigh and his rough jeans. When he pulls his hand away, he sees the wet spot of pre-cum that soaks through his jeans. He bites his lip.

Michael whistles lowly. Says, “That’s a pretty sight.”

James doesn’t look up in time to catch if Michael was referring to the fire or to James being a disaster, but it’s all the same to James. He straightens up, his toes curling in his shoes as he looks at the burning shambles of the space they were just occupying.

James whispers, “God damn.”

Michael says, “Huh. I thought—”

The pump stations explode unexpectedly, the fire blazing high in the sky as it finds more gasoline to gorge itself on.

Michael tightens his hand on the back of James’ head, breathes out, “Fuck.”

James grips his own thighs with an almost bruising touch, watching the fire dance in front of their eyes, watching the destruction tear itself into the night, the fire like a wound against the dark sky.

Michael lays his other hand James’, their fingers slotting together on James’ thigh. Michael doesn’t stop looking at the fire as he moves both their hands up James’ thigh and to the head of James’ leaking cock.

Michael says, “Knew you’d like your surprise. Do you want more?”

James moans out, the sound of it strung out and almost desperate. He says, “Yes.”

Michael moves their clasped hands over the hard line of his dick. James says, “Yes. Yes.”

Using his leverage on James, Michael pulls himself closer to the warm body next to him, his skin singing at the amount of heat James gives off, as if he himself were made of the same fire that he admires.

Michael swallows hard, presses his nose up against James’ neck, right where James’ pulse jumps under the skin. He moves their hands agonizingly slow over James’ erection, feeling it pulse at the ministrations.

Underneath them, the ground shakes as the fire catches on the underground tanks, exploding on the fumes and the few, stray drops of gasoline left in the arid station.

James takes in a shaky breath, his chest stuttering with it. Michael speeds up their hands fractionally, says, “Just on this? Gonna get off on just this?”

James nods and whines, tips his hips up into the touch, his his body curling in on itself.

In front of them, the ground sets on fire. The soil around the pump station and mini-mart catches on fire with no visible fuel to keep it going, but it’s there, it’s _real_ , the dirt is burning right in front of their eyes. And that seems to be it for James, that seems to be enough destruction and fire for him. He lets out a punched out moan that sounds almost painful, comes in his jeans under his and Michael’s laced hands.

“Holy shit,” Michael breathes out against James’ neck.

James gulps down on greedy breaths, letting out a keening noise, accentuating the end of it with a soft, “Fuck.”

Michael retracts his hand, taking James’ hand with him. He looks at the mess seeping into James’ jeans, mouth going dry at the sight. Michael starts giggling breathlessly into James’ shoulder, the heat of him addictive.

James’ head sags back as he slurs out, “Best date ever.”

Michael giggles harder, his hand at the back of James’ head falling away and landing on the cold metal under their bodies. The fire shimmers and begins to die off, the ground going out first, the pump station second, the mini-mart last; all like lights rowed out too far to sea, dimming as they go. The smoke from the gas station rises from the shining heat of embers, the color of it indistinguishable from the cover of dark sky.

At some point, they both lay down on the hood of the car, watching the stars and smoke intermingle. Michael sighs, feeling the adrenaline die down, a self-satisfied calm taking its place in his body.

Michael says, “Hey, James?”

James answers, “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Since you’re going to be the death of me, can we at least agree on mutual suicide by self-immolation?”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> [(ゝω・`)┏┏](http://shiphaus.co.vu/)


End file.
